


Marks of Honor

by EchoesOfTheCloneWars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clone Wars, Complete, Gen, Jaig Eyes, Mandalorian Culture, One Shot, POV First Person, War Stories, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 16:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17532290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoesOfTheCloneWars/pseuds/EchoesOfTheCloneWars
Summary: In the midst of galactic civil war, the Republic seeks allies.  Tensions rise as a planet with a long tradition of battle and honor refuses to take a side in the feud threatening to tear apart the galaxy.  Neutrality does not mean pacifism, but sometimes it takes another soldier to see that -- a soldier with strange marks on his helmet and war in his veins.





	Marks of Honor

_The Republic just_ has _to barge in and bring its war to my doorstep, doesn’t it?_ I rolled my eyes, pausing with my hand on the door to the briefing room, trying to put on a mask of civilized professionalism before charging in.  Deciding I’d steeled myself enough to act the part of a respectable and esteemed military officer, I gritted my teeth and pushed open the door.

     “Hello there,” quipped a distinguished-looking man dressed in what could only be Jedi robes.  “You must be the esteemed general we’ve heard so much about.”

     “General Kenobi, I presume?” I guessed, reaching out to shake his hand.  He had a firm, sure grip but wore a pleasant smile on his face that helped diminish my fears of a full-scale Republic invasion, at least to some extent.

     “You presume correctly.  This is Anakin Skywalker,” he gestured to a young man leaning over a holotank and staring at a glowing dot on a multilevel grid.

     “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, General Kenobi, but I want it to be known that I don’t want you here.  This is a neutral planet, and the people don’t want any part of your war.”

     “We’re not here to negotiate,” Skywalker interjected, abandoning the terrain map he had been viewing in the holotank and crossing the room to where I stood.  “We’re here to strategize.  Count Dooku and the Separatists won’t give you an option.”

     “ _You’re_ not giving me an option,” I informed him with a sneer, “and Count Dooku isn’t the one currently occupying my planet against the wishes of the people.  The Separatists haven’t even tried to contact us with an offer of negotiation.  They haven’t tried to sway our neutrality.  The same can’t be said of the Republic.”

     “Do you stand against the Republic?” the young Jedi accused.

     “I stand for my people.  I’m a soldier, not a politician. I don’t rule this planet; I protect it.  I’m a servant to the masses, and the masses want neutrality.”

     “You can’t hide from the war.”

     “Anakin,” Kenobi scolded quietly.

     “The war wasn’t here until you brought it,” I pointed out, growing impatient.

     “You’re either for the Republic or against it,” Skywalker growled, and I could see his fingers twitching at his side, as if he would have liked nothing more than to grab the lightsaber hanging from his belt and ignite it.

     “ _Anakin._ ” The warning in General Kenobi’s voice was more obvious this time, and Skywalker’s hand relaxed, though the scowl plastered on his face didn’t disappear.

     The tension in the air was so palpable that no one dared speak.  The boy – I realized then that he could just barely call himself a man – would likely have sliced me to pieces if given the opportunity.  It was just one more reason not to side with the Republic in the war being waged across the galaxy.  No one off-world had the interests of this planet at heart.

     The discomfort in the room only grew as the door swung open and a Republic soldier in full armor marched in through the door.  Strange markings adorned the soldier’s helmet: unfamiliar triangular shapes above the visor and what appeared to be tally marks.  I didn’t know what any of it meant, but I recognized a mark of honor when I saw one.  He was clearly was no ordinary soldier.

     “Sorry I’m late,” apologized the armor-clad man solemnly, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm to offer a salute.  “Just got cleared by medical.”

     Everyone stared at him.

     “What’s going on here?  Have I missed something important?”

     “Just a rant against the Republic,” Skywalker said, narrowing his eyes at me.  “I thought the people here were supposed to be these legendary fighters, but it turns out they’re just self-interested cowards.”

     “Fighters, yes.  Cowards, no,” I growled.  Throughout the planet’s history, very few could claim to have called the inhabitants cowards and survived.  “I’m part of a rich and historic warrior tradition.  That tradition requires that our wars be fought honorably and only for noble causes.  We fight our own battles, and we aren’t about to fight yours.  Our decision is neutrality, not pacifism.  I didn’t get these by being a coward.” I rolled up my sleeves, revealing skin covered in battle scars and tattooed markings that served as symbols of heroism.

     “Join the club.”  Skywalker tugged off a glove to reveal a mechanical arm. 

     “Not to step in where it isn’t my place, sir,” the armored man interrupted hesitantly, “but it’s generally not wise to contradict a soldier who’s earned their _jaig_ eyes.”

     “My what?” I didn’t understand whatever jargon he was spitting.

 _“Jai’galaar’la sur’haii’se,”_ he stated plainly, as if that cleared everything up.  He tapped the strange angles painted on the front of his helmet. “ _Jaig_ eyes.”

     Despite the fact that I still had no idea what he had said to me, there was something pleasing about the way the foreign words rolled off of his tongue.  Whatever he said hadn’t been a string of empty words; it had some kind of profound meaning to him.  There was pride in the man’s gruff voice when he spoke in that unfamiliar language, and I likened the fondness in his speech to the way elders recounted stories of old victories.

     “We’ll leave,” General Kenobi sighed.  “We know where we’re not wanted, and we won’t stay and stir up trouble.  If you give us enough time to refuel our ships and rally our men, we will be out of your hair in no time at all.”

     “Thank you for respecting our wishes.  Talk to our leader.  You’ll most likely be welcome to spend the night planetside and refuel.  Other than that, don’t expect anything.  Much more and we’ll be giving aid to the Republic at the risk of our neutrality.”

     “Understood.”

     With that, Kenobi gave me a nod and turned to exit the room.  The others made to follow him, but I stopped them.

     “Wait.” The remaining two halted in their tracks.  “If it’s not a problem, can the soldier stay behind for a few minutes?”

     The man in question looked to Skywalker, standing stiffly next to the Jedi and waiting for some kind of signal.

     The Jedi frowned.  “It’s your call, Rex.”

     “I just want to talk about the _jaig_ eyes,” I told the trooper, whose expression changed gradually from suspicion to curiosity.  “One fighter to another.”

     Something in his stern countenance softened at the words, and he nodded.  “I’ll stay,” the soldier told General Skywalker.  “I’ll see you at the briefing.”

     Skywalker narrowed his eyes before turning sharply and leaving.  I wasn’t sorry to see him leave.

     “What do you want to know about _jaig_ eyes?”

     I momentarily considered where to start.  “You said something before that intrigued me.  It didn’t sound like Basic.”

     “Mando’a,” he clarified.  “Mandalore has… well, _had_ a strong warrior culture.  The _jai’galaar’la sur’haii’se_ are a symbol of honor.”

     “Say that again.”

     An amused grin played at the soldier’s lips as he repeated the phrase.  “ _Jai’galaar’la sur’haii’se.”_

     “Jay… galore…la… sir… hi… say,” I attempted.

     “ _Jai.”_

 _"Jai,”_ I repeated

_"Galaar’la.”_

     “ _Galaar’la._ ”

     “Okay, now repeat it back:  _jai’galaar’la.”_

     “ _Jai’galaar’la_ ,” I tried.

     “Good, now _sur.”_

     I worked my way through all of the sounds, putting them together to form the words.  I practiced the phrase clumsily a few times until…

 _“Jai’galaar’la sur’haii’se,”_ I said with confidence.

     “Spoken like a true Mandalorian,” he grinned.

     I expected to be treated to rich tales of Mandalore’s history and culture of the sort that my people passed down from generation to generation.  Warriors loved to exchange stories of glory – and of the more interesting losses, however embellished they might be.  However, I was told different tales.  Despite the traditions, the _jaig_ eyes, the Mando’a – despite all of that, his stories weren’t about Mandalore.  He told _his_ story.  I learned where he came from, where he had been, how he had gotten the marks on his helmet, and why he was given the name Rex by his brothers, the men he called _vode_. I understood how a man like that deserved marks of honor.  We exchanged war stories of both victory and defeat and recounted tales of our most memorable battles.  As the conversation dwindled to a close, I asked this soldier, this Captain Rex, one final question.

     He responded with a solemn nod, “I think you’ve earned as much, General.”

     I met the Republic forces at the airfield the next morning to see them off.  I was far from sad to see them go.  The harm they would bring by staying far outweighed any benefits.  It was for the well-being of the planet that I sent them on their way.

     “Captain Rex!” I called out, flagging down the soldier I had talked to the previous evening.  “I have something to show you.”

     I rolled up my sleeve, just as I had done before to prove my grit as a general.  Among the scars and marks of valor, one marking stood out.  The lines were starker, the color bolder, and the skin around it more red.  It was newer than the rest.  The blue ink was still fresh on my skin.  Next to the traditional markings that distinguished me as a warrior of great skill and experience was one that didn’t originate on my home planet.  The strange, angular makings were entirely foreign, but they were not without meaning.  I had learned their significance.

     “ _Jai’galaar’la sur’haii’se,”_ I explained.

     “ _Jaig_ eyes,” Captain Rex nodded, brushing his fingers across the identical design on his helmet.

     "You said it was okay,” I reminded him, suddenly worried he might not have meant it and actually found the gesture to be in poor taste.

     “Like I said before, you’ve earned as much.” With that, he gave me a curt nod and boarded the transports with his fellow Republic troopers.

     I stood in the airfield as the shuttles took off, watching the troops as they ascended on the journey back to their battleships.  I thought of the war stories Captain Rex had shared with me, and about the mark of honor he had shared with me as well.

     When I spoke to him the night before, there was one tradition I had withheld.  It was a practice dating back generations that warriors would bear the mark of a hero of the past.  It served as a reminder of those who had gone before, as well as a legacy to aspire to.  Now, next to the scrawled name of an ancient warrior you looked to for motivation and strength was a blue Mandalorian symbol that served a similar purpose, etched permanently into your skin to pay tribute to a legacy that should never be forgotten.  If you had earned your _jaig_ eyes, Captain Rex had earned his a thousand times over.


End file.
